The German Suitcase by Greg Dinallo

doctor.”
    “And what of her family?” his mother asked.
    “They’re Galician but they live in Venice, now. In the Jewish ghetto. Ever since Mussolini fell and our troops occupied Italy, many of their neighbors have been arrested and sent to concentration camps.” Max paused, overcome by a sense of hopelessness. “We…We want to spend our lives together, raise a family, like you and dad.”
    “That’s wonderful,” his mother said. “We’re very happy for you.” She glanced to her husband and prompted, “Aren’t we Konrad?”
    “Of course we are,” Konrad replied, dutifully. He knew his wife was doing more than eliciting his support, and knew exactly what she wanted. His eyes drifted for a moment then, with an anxious drag of his cigarette, he said, “What I’m about to say, Max, must stay in this room. Though the records seem to have ‘somehow’ been lost, according to family lore, my great-grandmother on my father’s side was Jewish.”
    Max felt as if he couldn’t catch his breath. He and his younger sister, Anika, were cared for by a Jewish nanny as children. Tovah Klausner was a nurturing woman who loved them as she would her own. By the time they had grown, she had become a member of the family and stayed on to run the household. Thanks to her, Max’s Yiddish was more than passable—a fact that deepened his friendship with Jake beyond their interest in orthopedic surgery which had initiated it—but this—this was shocking news. He looked to his mother, gauging her reaction. Her composed smile left no doubt it was neither shocking nor news to her.
    “Of course, being one-eighth Jewish is the secret to my success in business!” his father went on laughing at the absurdity of the stereotype. “And to my demise if that weasel Himmler found out.”
    “It’s Eva’s demise I’m worried about,” Max said his voice hoarse with anxiety. “Eva’s and Jake’s. They need a place to stay. They need false papers. We have to help them.”
    “I don’t see how we can get involved,” his father said with finality. “Not directly. As you know, we do have certain connections that might be useful.”
    Max scowled. “The resistance? Headquarters has been giddy over reports it’s been infiltrated. Besides, as a very bright person once said, trust no one but family,” Max added, smartly. “What about the lake house?” he went on, referring to the family’s chalet on Eibsee at the foot of the German Alps.
    The lake country on the Austrian border north of Innsbruck was a year-round playground for the wealthy. Tennis, golf or water sports in the morning; skiing in Garmisch Partenkirchen, where the 1936 Winter Olympics were held, in the afternoon. Free of defense plants and military installations—other than border checkpoints and a contingent of mountain troops housed in what had been Olympic dormitories—the area wasn’t on the Allies’ target list.
    “Eva and Jake could stay there,” Max concluded. “Until new passports and travel passes can be—”
    “No,” his father said, sharply. “If they’re found there we’re all finished.”
    “We have to do something,” Max protested. “We can’t just allow the SS to cart them off to a death camp. There must be—”
    “No, Max. No. I don’t need any more phone calls in the middle of the night. You’re lucky I was able to keep you from being arrested. Major Steig came this close to charging you with violating the Nuremberg Laws, racial defilement, and bringing disgrace on the SS! Charges for which you could face a firing squad.”
    Max shuddered visibly, then nodded. “Steig is an attack dog. A true believer. You can imagine my relief when he said I was being reassigned.”
    “Reassigned to what?” his father asked.
    Max shrugged. “My orders are being cut. I have to report to headquarters early tomorrow.”
    “Some form of punishment,” his father speculated, grimly. “The front most likely.”
    “The front…” his mother